José Again!

He’s back!  He’s better than before!  He’s José!

I met with his mother yesterday.

And his brother.

And his social worker.

You’d be surprised how many kids come with entourages these days.  It’s my second social worker conference this year.  The other one (surprise!) was Griselda’s (I just knew they had a connection).

If only their entourages brought them movie deals and private jets.  Or at the very least a laptop.  Instead, they come to check in and see how the kids are doing.  They make sure there are no bruises.  No gaping emotional wounds.  Clean clothes.  Whether the homework’s being done.  Whether school is a work in progress or termination.

Most of the time, until they arrive, the teacher has no idea they exist.

Obviously, I knew that home wasn’t BeaverCleaverland.  No homework and no follow through on my call home to make sure the homework returned to school complete.  He arrives at school early and stays long after the bell.  The history of stubborness and defiance.  Clear authority issues.

Lots of talent.  Lots of inconsistency.  The past two months I’ve been alternating cajoling, rewards, and consequences.  Then I sent home a warning notice on official letterhead.  Midpoint in the reporting period.  Your child is not meeting the state standards.

Bzzz. The social worker comes.

Would it help me understand and teach the child to know that there’s some major domestic drama, that the father is now allowed to spend time with the family again, that they have a home now?  Hmm.  I could have used this information earlier, but, hey, I’m happy to have it now.  And here’s José’s 1st grade brother.   Back-to-back kids.  Probably a young mother.  Hmm.  Also something that might have been helpful.

Bzzz. The class phone rings.

Office: José’s mom will be waiting to outside the school to meet with you when you walk the kids out.

Me: I don’t know who she is. There are forty parents waiting out there!

Office: We know.  Make sure you bring José with you to identify her.

I walk outside not knowing what to expect.  Lots of assumptions and expectations are dancing around in my mind, few of them pleasant.  Parents crowd the gate like a paparazzi posse waiting for their little stars.

José points to one.  No running hug.  No ‘mama!’ or ‘mommy!’ or anything emotional.  Just a little finger.

Who do I see?  A tentatively smiling, neatly dressed woman in her twenties who’s probably as hesitant and full of assumptions as I am.  Except she has no eyebrows.  They’re penciled in.  In a reddish brown that sets off against her black hair.

We walk to the classroom, José shyly in tow, and sit down at his desk for a long chat.  I try not to look at the eyebrows.  WHY?!?  But I learn about how every night, either she or the father help José with his homework.  They make sure he completes it and stows it in his backpack.  She doesn’t understand the note I wrote about him not turning his work in.  We open up the offending backpack, and sure enough, buried in a folder I’ve never seen before are days and days of math problems, flyers I sent home, behavior contracts, picture day notices, PTA dues, etc.  He could build a nest with all the stuff buried there.  If pieces of paper were hundred dollar bills, he’d be rich.

For the life of us, we couldn’t get José to tell us why he’d rather be benched than take his homework out of his backpack.  I suspect it has something to do with his knot of authority issues.  It’ll take a while to unravel that problem.  But I’d much rather deal with that than him not doing the work at all.

And it’s great to be on the same page as his mother.  And social worker.  And father.   And brother.

José is now assigned to read to his younger brother to feel responsible. To help him reconnect to his entourage.  In a good way.

I think we made some progress!